


Quiet Heat

by bitter_Cake



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: hp_kinkfest, Fingerfucking, First Time Blow Jobs, M/M, Praise Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2019-03-30 02:17:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13940481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bitter_Cake/pseuds/bitter_Cake
Summary: Albus has been watching Mr Malfoy for a while now, and his attentions have gone completely unnoticed. It's been two years, so Albus is surprised when Mr Malfoy finally starts to talk to him. Albus' response to the attention takes him completely,blissfully, off guard.For  @bixgirl1 's prompt of praise!kink. Love some praise!kink. Sorry the feathers aren'treallyincorporated into the sexy times.





	Quiet Heat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bixgirl1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bixgirl1/gifts).



**** 

"Oh hello, Albus. What are you doing in here?"

Albus almost drops his glass of prosecco. He quickly readjusts his grip and spins to face Mr Malfoy. His eyes settle on the perfect width of Mr Malfoy's wrists as he slowly eases a leather glove away from one hand. 

"Um, I'm just...you know."

He rubs his feet together, all reasonable thought vacating his mind as the reason for his moping continues to remove items of clothing. Mr Malfoy raises an eyebrow at him expectantly as he wraps his scarf around the nearest coat hanger. Albus sighs.

"It's just ...a lot out there right now."

He looks down at his drink, frowning at the bubbles. They seem to be mocking him with their frivolity. Much like this whole night. Laughter from the gathering of happy-go-lucky people celebrating Scorpius' 20th birthday together in the other room can be heard faintly from where they stand. 

"Albus."

Mr Malfoy is looking at him with quiet, grey eyes. Albus is familiar with Mr Malfoy's gaze, but rarely because he is on the receiving end of it. He feels his neck flush hot with the attention, and he looks around the cloakroom for something to distract him. Mr Malfoy takes a step towards him, and Albus focuses on the monstrosity of a coat that Scorpius wore to the party tonight. It's hanging to the right of him, downy grey ostrich feathers stretching towards him from a hanging sea of mundane black jackets. 

"That colour looks good on you, Albus,"

The words are spoken quietly, but they ring sharply in his ears. Albus bites down on a gasp as his head whips up to catch the expression on Mr Malfoy's face. He’s looking at Albus with an intensity that Albus still can’t believe he is familiar with. 

Until a few months ago, Albus has never had any intensity focused towards him, from anyone. He's used to blending into the shadows, observing from the sidelines, and cataloguing all he sees. Not being the center of attention.

The thing is, Albus has been watching Mr Malfoy for a while. And one of the first things that Albus realised about him is that Mr Malfoy rations his attentions. His _real_ attentions. He holds back his words and hoards praise like expensive chocolates, only to be doled out the most deserving, the most loved. Very few people are worthy of Mr Malfoy's praise. Albus knows this from two years of careful observations. He’s always been careful, and that’s why Mr Malfoy’s recent attentions have been so unexpected. 

Albus doesn’t remember making an active decision to start observing Mr Malfoy. The catalogue in his brain seems to have sprung into existence one day fully formed and bristling, ready for Albus in his most aching moments. He does have a memory of their first meeting, and he supposes his unconscious cataloguing must have started from that day. 

*

It was a day of frustrations and bitter disappointment.

Albus is a Potter, but he is a Potter neither brave enough, nor athletic enough, or even smart enough to ease his father's worried frown. On the day of their graduation, Scorpius was newly his best friend and bursting with an energy that usually makes Albus want to curl into his own body. Scorpius had been Albus’ partner for advanced potions in seventh year and at some point during the final term, completely without consultation, he had decided to adopt Albus as his own. No matter how thoroughly Albus had tried to shake him off, Scorpius refused to leave him alone. 

Hogwarts graduation was where their families had been introduced for the first time following the birth of their friendship. Albus remembers it clearly– Scorpius joyful and bouncing towards them, parents in tow, Mr Malfoy's gaze taking steady stock of Albus in just a few seconds. Albus, fidgeting beside his parents and trying to keep his head down as every head in the room, still after all these years, turned to look at his dad. 

Albus can't remember consciously thinking very much in those seconds, and yet, two years later, he can conjure the image of Mr Malfoy standing tall and proud behind Scorpius. Introductions were made as Albus sweated in his oppressive collared dress robes, his mind already stamped with the image of the man who would both ruin and save him.

If he closes his eyes, Albus can picture the exact tilt of Mr Malfoy's head as he swept his eyes over Albus' body that day- presumably taking note of his less than quidditch perfect physique, lanky, eighteen-year-old limbs and rounded baby-fat face. Albus is sure they lingered on his freckles- a light scattering of them across his nose, the only feature that seems to mark him out as vaguely Weasley- before Mr Malfoy sniffed, and the interest flickered out of his eyes. A cursory handshake later and they had all moved on, Albus blissfully unaware that his life had been turned upside down. 

He must have continued to catalogue memories of Mr Malfoy for at least a year after that before the extent of his fascinations were revealed. He’d thought he’d been rather good at controlling his obsession, but as Albus spent more and more time at the Manor, the more his habit began to run away from him.

He had memories of Mr Malfoy preparing breakfast at the Manor, deft hands confidently buttering toast as intelligent eyes scanned the morning prophet. Mr Malfoy in the Manor garden, sleeves rolled up to his elbows and exposing pleasingly toned forearms. 

Albus recalls those arms moving animatedly during discussions on wolfsbane regulations at the annual Healer-Brewer conference – the shadow of the dark mark bared unashamedly to the room. Mr Malfoy had listened, his face impassive and eyes steely, as potions master Gurglebank had warbled through his speech on the impracticalities of improving the quality wolfsbane ingredients in St Mungo’s. 

Mr Malfoy had listened patiently until the man’s mouth had finally stopped moving. Then, he had let loose a stream of cutting words, each sentence impeccable in its argument, and piercing in its assessment of Gurlgebank’s moral integrity. When he’d finished, his face had been burning with a cold fire that left Albus quivering in his seat at the conference table.

Albus often likes to think of these memories at night, but usually he thinks of them whilst working. He lets himself get lost in his catalogue, the mundanities of being a sub-standard brewer brightened by his memories of Mr Malfoy's smile- the warmth of which is only ever directed at Scorpius. One of his favourite memories was gathered from Scorpius' 19th birthday the previous year- the soft bend of Mr Malfoy's lips and the crinkles that appear around his eyes when he greets his son. When Mr Malfoy looks at his son, the harsh lines of his face are softened, and joy seems to radiate from his skin. 

Albus spends a lot of time thinking about Mr Malfoy’s face. Usually it’s hardened into sharp lines like weapons against a world that continues to judge him for a life he no longer is. Coolly confident and challenging in its very existence. 

Albus had never considered the consequences his fascinations might have. Mr Malfoy occupies at least seventy percent of his waking thoughts, and yet Albus had never thought for a second that his obsessions would be obvious to anyone else.

Six months before Scorpius’ 20th birthday, Albus loses control. 

*

Albus is visiting Scorpius at the Manor. They don’t get to see each other too much these days- a fact that distresses Albus greatly, because he honestly isn’t sure what had attracted Scorpius' friendship to him in the first place. He was afraid time would make Scorpius realise what a mistake he’d made and then Albus would be left once again with his solitude. He thinks the weight would be harder to bear now he’s used to the warmth of companionship.

They’re sitting quietly in the manor dining room, each working on their respective writing projects. The sun filters pleasantly through the ceiling windows, dappling the oak table with soothing patterns that dance across Albus’ page. 

This is something they often do together, and the simplicity of it surprised Albus at first. He supposes even flashy people like Scorpius need time to relax. Working on a writing project whilst the wireless croons softly in the background seems to be Scorpius' downtime, and it suits Albus just fine. He gets to spend time with his friend in a way that doesn't leave him tense, mentally exhausted and counting down the minutes until he can be alone again. Scorpius gets to write his stories with somebody that doesn’t mock him for them. 

Scorpius usually works on his fantasy stories with his tongue sticking out, brows furrowed and nose centimetres from the page. He occasionally stops to ask Albus a question about wording- "Should I say loins or package? Al, which sounds better?”- but usually the only sounds are the wireless and the steady flow of their breathing. 

Albus doesn’t work on fantasy stories. In fact, he doesn’t work on stories at all. He’s currently writing a piece for _The Modern Brewer_. His project - _7 Unexpected Uses For Flobberworm Faeces in Modern Brewing,_ is much anticipated in some (small) circles, and is the sequel to a previously well-received article of his, _3 Unexpected Uses For Flobberworm Faeces in Modern Brewing_. 

Albus considers the success of his article to be his first real achievement. But when he had shown it to his family Albus could see the confusion written plainly across their faces. They’d all said they were proud (his Aunt Hermione in particular), but mostly they just couldn’t understand this Potter with his lack of interest in quidditch or spell work. But Albus is finally past feeling ashamed of his hobbies, at least where his family is concerned. 

He’s so caught up in the scratching of his quill, the flow of his thoughts, for once not clouded with Malfoy senior, that he doesn't notice when the man himself arrives to observe silently over Albus' shoulder. 

"You have very fine handwriting Albus," he sounds surprised, but not as surprised as Albus is to hear Mr Malfoy's aristocratic drawl immediately behind him. He almost ruins the past hour of work when he knocks over the inkwell. It spins away, only spattering the edge of the parchment in specks of dark green before mercifully, it wobbles to an upright stop. Albus breathes a sigh of relief.

Out the corner of his eye he can see Mr Malfoy scanning the parchment on the table. Currently the article is around three feet long, and Mr Malfoy skims over most of it, Albus gradually getting hotter and hotter as he does so. He makes a humming noise in the back of his throat when he’s finished and Albus looks up, toes curling when he meets Mr Malfoy's assessing stare. He's looking at Albus like he's never seen him before.

"Really Albus, that is some excellent penmanship." 

He looks at Albus expectantly. 

Albus isn’t sure what he expected to hear, but this takes him by surprise.

He clenches his fists under the table, his whole body heating at Mr Malfoy's words. The tingles that encompass him are probably accompanied by a deep Weasley red that flushes across his skin. Albus is mortified, and slightly aroused, and then mortified even more. His mouth opens a little as he exhales slightly, and for a moment it looks like Mr Malfoy's eyes get a fraction wider. 

"I.."

"Leave him alone, Dad, you know Al can't handle compliments," 

Scorpius barely looks up from where he is sucking on a sugar quill, the purple colour of the sweet feathering into his skin, bleeding around his mouth. He looks like an unfortunate spattergroit victim. Mr Malfoy doesn’t look over at his son though. His eyes have Albus pinned to his seat.

"Is that so?" 

Mr Malfoy’s usually passive face appears electrified, his whole body turned towards Albus. It’s like he knows Albus’ cock is filling out slowly in his jeans, thickening with every second Mr Malfoy scrutinises him. 

Albus’ stomach twists painfully. He can't maintain eye contact, choosing instead to focus on one of the emerald droplets that has seeped into his parchment, thin tendrils creeping towards his handwriting.

He doesn’t know if Mr Malfoy is expecting an answer so he sort of nods. It’s more of a neck spasm, but it seems to satisfy Mr Malfoy, who strides away to give Scorpius a squeeze on the shoulder before heading to leave.

Just before he slips through the door, he gives Albus another appraising look that makes him squirm in his seat.

As the door slams shut on the Manor dining room, Albus realises he's uncomfortably hard in his jeans. All Mr Malfoy did was pay him a compliment, and Albus almost came in his pants. 

He tries to focus on his project but he can’t concentrate anymore. Quickly he stands and starts gathering up his things. The chair scrapes angrily and Scorpius snaps his head up at the noise. 

“Just gonna go organise the library for a bit.” 

Albus can see a question forming in Scorpius’ face, so he bolts before his friend has a chance to speak. 

He heads for the safety of the Manor library. Scorpius lets him catalogue the books in there when he’s feeling anxious, and right now Albus wants to feel the reassuring softness of old leather books beneath his hands.

He’s hit with the familiar smell of ancient parchment as soon as he enters the dark aisles of the library. Instantly, his heart rate starts to slow down. He finds the trolley of books he had been cataloguing last time he was here and gets to work. For a while he gets lost in the rhythm of sorting them into categories, thinking of nothing as particles of dust float softly in the light beams around him. 

After a while, he tries to slowly let his thoughts back in. Immediately the embarrassment rushes up through his chest and threatens to overwhelm him, but Albus takes some steady breaths and focuses on the feel of the leather beneath his fingertips.

The strength of his reaction to Mr Malfoy’s words earlier has him completely shaken. Of course, he’s spoken to Mr Malfoy before, but conversation has never surpassed the dreary courtesies any decent father would extend to friends of their children. Certainly, Mr Malfoy has _never_ paid him a compliment before. Albus was sure Mr Malfoy’s opinion of him consisted entirely of “Scorpius’ boring friend Albus- the least interesting Potter”. It’s the opinion everyone else has about him, and Albus has given up expecting more.

He thinks about the way Mr Malfoy’s eyes burned into his skin. It’s like he knew exactly what Albus was feeling. _How_ could Albus have been so careless? He’s always taken pride in the control he has over his emotions. Unlike James and Lily, or even Scorpius- Albus never lets his emotions get the better of him in public. Now, Albus feels exposed and vulnerable, and he doesn’t know what to do about it. So he just keeps cataloguing books. 

He loses himself in the motions of it, and hours must pass. Scorpius pops his head in at some point. It looks like he wants to speak to Albus, but he leaves when his “Al? You can talk to me about it you know?” goes completely ignored.

It’s late when he finally heads home. Six whole sub-categories of books, (variations on _Essential Charms for Stately Homes!_ ) have been organised into towering piles, ready for the shelves, but Albus has finally exhausted himself. He’ll put them on the shelves next time. 

He’s so worried about bumping into Mr Malfoy on the way out, that he doesn’t even say goodbye to Scorpius. He heads directly for the front doors of the Manor, barely slipping past the double doors before he apparates home.

*

Albus has never been so grateful to return the sanctuary of his flat. James thinks that Albus is weird for wanting to live alone, but the solitude of it suits Albus just fine. This way he can choose exactly with whom, and exactly how long, he socialises. At the end of the day, he can come from work and wrap himself up in the silence. No matter how exhausted he is, when Albus gets home he can make a cup of tea, curl up on his couch, and wash away the tension that comes with other people. 

When he arrives back from the Manor Albus heads straight for the kitchen and charms the kettle to boil. His skin feels itchy, and he catches himself grinding his teeth as he paces the tiled floor. He can't shake the feeling from earlier- mortification mixed with a new kind of arousal. It was as if Mr Malfoy had burnt down every single one of Albus’ barriers and turned them to ash right there by the dining room table. The moment could only have lasted around five minutes, and yet Albus had never felt so exposed.

With a growl he gives up waiting on the kettle to boil and storms through to his bedroom. He lets out a frustrated whine as he flops down on the bed, his whole body bouncing a few times before settling. The scent of laundry detergent gradually calms him, and he takes a few deep breaths into his pillow. It smells like his Mum's house, and it soothes him in a way Albus would loathe to admit out loud.

Albus has never been turned on by a compliment before. Until now, Albus has mostly lived under the assumption that he just isn’t as into sex as everyone else seems to be. He thinks about the look Mr Malfoy gave him in the dining room, the way his words pressed into Albus’ skin like soft kisses, and realises he was very, _very_ wrong. 

Now, face buried in the comfort of his bed, Albus lets the vulnerability he felt in that moment wash over him. He pushes the pillow into his eyes and lets out a small scream.

" _Fuck._ "

Of course, even before today Albus had been aware that Mr Malfoy was an attractive man. He wasn’t blind. Or an idiot. Even in his forties, with his hair thinner than it no doubt once was, and the lines of his body a little softer, Mr Malfoy was a beautiful wizard. Albus had already noticed that he often drew the attention of a room. Sure, the intent behind those attentions was varied (and not always welcome), but Albus had on more than one occasion spotted a witch or wizard following Mr Malfoy’s arse around the room.

Still, Albus has never seen Mr Malfoy return the favour to anyone.

Albus tries to imagine what it would feel like to have Mr Malfoy return the favour – if Mr Malfoy was attracted to him. The idea is absurd, and yet, Albus can remember the way Mr Malfoy looked at him this afternoon. 

He feels his stomach twist pleasantly as he imagines what it might feel like to be _seduced_ by Mr Malfoy. He lifts his hips slightly and wrestles off his work trousers before flopping back down onto his belly. He refuses to directly think about what he’s doing- he can address the consequences of this later. An anticipatory sigh escapes him as his hand drifts lower to settle on his stomach. 

He’s not doing anything- _yet_ -just lightly caressing his skin whilst thoughts of silver blonde hair and strong forearms dance in the peripherals of his consciousness. He imagines the softness of Mr Malfoy’s hair under his fingertips, the crinkle that appears around his eyes when he smiles. His mouth. Suddenly, Albus is assaulted with the image of Mr Malfoy kissing him. He wonders how it could have felt-if Mr Malfoy had followed through with his intensity this afternoon and stepped forward, pressing Albus into the chair and their lips together. What would it feel like to be held down by Mr Malfoy? To feel powerless? To feel wanted?

Albus’ hips are making little abortive thrusts against his sheets now, so he slowly slips his hand down and into his underwear. For now, he just cups himself, letting his hips rock gently as the pleasure washes through him.

He revisits his treasured memories of Mr Malfoy. Shuffling through his memory catalogue is familiar, but this time when Albus pictures Mr Malfoy’s hands, they’re caressing his body. When he pictures Mr Malfoy’s arms, they’re pulled tight around Albus’ torso. He pictures Mr Malfoy’s smile pressed into his skin, and Albus finally starts to stroke himself. He keeps the pace slow at first, twisting at the head and firmly pulling down the length of his dick as he gets lets the tension pool in his tummy. 

Albus recalls the strength of his arousal earlier in the Manor dining room and he bites down onto his pillow. He picks up the pace, fucking into his hand as he recalls Mr Malfoy’s simple compliments lighting a fire through his veins.

Those simple words that left Albus _wrecked_. He wants to feel that way again, wants Mr Malfoy to pay him more attention. Albus wants to be perfect for Mr Malfoy, wants to make him so happy. His hand is flying over his cock, and Albus imagines what it would feel like to have words of praise murmured into his skin, to feel _desired_. His mind starts supplying him with all the different ways that he could be good for Mr Malfoy, and it tips him over the edge. He comes hard, spurting all over his hand and soaking his bedsheets. In the aftermath, Albus pants into his spit-soaked pillow case and thinks. Although its risky, Albus wants to fuel this fire.

*

In the coming weeks Albus wanks _a lot_. Luckily, one thing Albus has always been good at is research and he quickly finds some enlightening material to fuel his wank sessions. 

He also visits Scorpius at the Manor several times. In any of his visits, he never runs into Mr Malfoy– a fact he is glad of, because Albus’ imagination is working overtime with its new discoveries, and he’s sure with one look Mr Malfoy would know that Albus wants to get on his knees for him. 

At night, Albus lets scenario after scenario escalate in his mind’s eye. By the time he comes, desperate and hard into his hand, it’s usually to the thought of a thick cock stuffed in his mouth and Mr Malfoy’s groan of “ _Good boy, Albus_ ”.

*

The next time he sees Mr Malfoy, Albus is at Scorpius’ new muggle flat in Chelsea. He’s somehow been roped into decorating along with Mr Malfoy and a couple of Scorpius’ other friends. The flat is what Scorpius proudly calls a “fixer upper”, but as far as Albus can tell, that just means it’s a bit of a dump. It’s the first time Albus has spent extended periods with Mr Malfoy since his big revelation, and he’s feeling rather on edge. In a streak of madness, he’s volunteered to carry the furniture into the flat. He’s hoping it leaves no time for talking, to Mr Malfoy _or_ Scorpius’ other friends. 

Luckily, both of Scorpius’ new neighbours are at work. He may be embracing his new muggle address, but Scorpius is still a pampered pureblood at heart. This means Albus doesn’t have to concern himself with manual labour. Much.

Spell-work can be surprisingly exhausting on a physical level. Albus is realising the extent of it now as a trickle of sweat runs down his back, shoulders shaking with the effort of levitating a third chaise lounge up the stairs to the flat. 

He’s almost at the top of the stairs when he feels his legs start to give out. He tries to push forward, leap the last few steps into the front door of the flat, but it’s no use, his foot slips and he’s falling. The shadow of the sofa starts to engulf him, and Albus shuts his eyes, ready to embrace his end. At least he won’t have to move any more of Scorpius’ furniture. 

When he’s not knocked out immediately, Albus realises his hopes of escaping Malfoy-moving-hell are crushed. Unlike Albus, who is now sprawled across the stairs, hands protecting his head and his wand pointing somewhere behind him. 

“Are you quite alright, Albus?”

Albus groans. He’s dishevelled and embarrassed in a way he’d rather not have Mr Malfoy witness right now. At least Mr Malfoy can’t see him blush– he’s already bright red with the effort of moving the sofa. He nods through the embarrassment and pulls himself to the top of the landing. It’s probably his imagination, over active from frequent use lately, but Mr Malfoy seems to take in the length of Albus’ body as he comes to stand next to him. 

“Really, Albus, don’t let my son push you to an early grave. God knows he’s halfway there with me already.” 

Mr Malfoy smiles at him, honestly smiles at him and all Albus can do is bite his cheek and shake his head. His reaction makes Mr Malfoy frown, and no- that’s not what Albus wants, but he doesn’t know what to do about it either, so he just stands there. Sweaty and useless. 

“Come now Albus, I’ll help you with this ridiculous thing. I don’t know where on earth Scorpius thinks he’s going to put it,”

Mr Malfoy throws him an expectant look so Albus shakes himself off, twirls his neck to ease some tension before positioning his wand.

“ _Wingardium leviosa!_ ” 

The sofa which was flagging slightly above them (despite Mr Malfoy's rescue efforts) floats up so that it balances evenly over their heads. 

Albus cringes inwardly. Mr Malfoy is watching him closely, and Albus knows he probably looks like a first year– he needs to follow complete spell casting etiquette before any of his spells perform adequately. He always has, ever since he first held his wand and was truly faced with the realisation that he had neither of his parent’s natural magical ability. Albus needs to utilise the correct stance, proper wand movement and pronunciation before his magic will even _consider_ doing his bidding. 

Hoping to get this over with, Albus finds his voice. 

“Shall we?”

Mr Malfoy seems to snap out of something, eyes pulling back from a fogginess Albus hasn’t seen before. He coughs.

“Right. I’ll lead shall I?”

After a few attempts, they manage to manoeuvre the piece into Scorpius’ front room. They only need to back track a couple of times- one of those times resulting in both of them standing back to back underneath the floating sofa, Mr Malfoy directing their progression whilst Albus, facing away, makes sure that they don’t break any of Scorpius’ very inconveniently placed collection of china tea sets. 

He was concentrating so hard on angling his spell work (Albus curses whoever placed that tea set on top of the grand piano, _and by the door of all places!_ ) that he didn’t notice their successful arrival into the front room. Only when he stepped backwards and collided with Mr Malfoy did Albus realise they had reached their destination, the shock of the contact making him jump. He steadied himself quickly though when the rear end of the sofa started to drop dramatically. His corrected posture left him pressed entirely against Mr Malfoy. 

“Oh,” 

The jolt of pleasure that crackled down the length of his body astonished Albus in its power. For one delicious second, Albus could feel the contours of Mr Malfoy’s back pressed against his own. He could feel the firm lines of Mr Malfoy’s shoulder blades, slightly higher than his own, through the thin material of his t-shirt. And, _god_ , he could feel the curve of Mr Malfoy’s ass (the wicked shape of it so familiar in his fantasies) pushed partly against his own. 

The contact was only for a second, but Albus knew he’d be wanking to it for weeks. 

He stepped away quickly, trying to calm himself and disguise the reaction he’d had merely bumping into another man. His heart was racing in his chest. 

“On the count of three?”

Albus turns, doesn’t look up. Nods at his shoes.

“One, two…three!”

The sofa lands with a thud that’s sure to get the neighbours grumbling. 

He wipes his hands on his joggers, ready to make his escape. During the whole fiasco Albus hasn’t seen Scorpius or the others once. He knows he can make this an excuse and he’s about to do so, but then miraculously, horrifically, Mr Malfoy’s hand tightens on his shoulder. He freezes. 

“You’re good at this, Albus,” 

_Shit._

He turns to reply, but he's greeted with such an open and warm smile, the intensity of which Albus has never experienced up close before that he panics and turns his back again on Mr Malfoy. He's shaking slightly, and there is no way Mr Malfoy hasn't noticed. His hand is still on Albus' shoulder. 

There is a heavy beat of silence. Albus wants the ground to swallow him whole, wants Scorpius and his parade of friends to burst through the door, heck- even _Voldemort_ could burst through that door right now and Albus would be grateful. He just wants this whole day to be over actually, so he steels himself to leave and- 

“You have excellent casting posture, do you know that?” 

"W-what?"

The pressure on his shoulder tightens just a fraction. Albus’ cock twitches in his pants.

“Really, quite excellent casting. I must say I'm surprised, considering your father's atrocious habits.”

Albus frowns. He doesn’t want to hear about his dad right now. He shrugs his shoulder a little, but the hand doesn’t move. He gasps when Mr Malfoy’s other hand takes a firm hold of his hip from behind. This feeling will be burned into his brain forever, Albus knows. 

“If I can just make one suggestion?” 

Mr Malfoy’s voice is quiet, but he must be so close behind him, because Albus can hear the words perfectly. He feels hyper aware of the space between his back and Mr Malfoy's chest. The air feels hot between them.

Slowly, surely, Mr Malfoy slides his hand along the underside of Albus’ arm so that he can correct Albus’ casting position. He pulls Albus’ hip back sharply, so that they stand flush together. 

Albus almost chokes. 

“Your stance is beautiful, Albus, really it is,”

A tiny squeak escapes Albus before he can stop it. He's barely resisting the urge to _push his hips back_ , to fully close the space between them.

“But if you can just strengthen your core muscles, _here_ ,” 

Mr Malfoy’s hand skates from Albus’ hip, around his waist to settle on his stomach. Albus feels himself start to shake harder.

“Your levitation spells will be able to support much heavier weights.”

The words ghost across Albus’ neck. It’s too much, and he finds himself holding his breath before he can let out any noises that might give him away. 

Mr Malfoy must take in his sudden rigidity because he steps back abruptly. Albus regrets the loss of contact immediately and spins to do what exactly? He doesn’t know, and he falters when he takes in the burning expression on Mr Malfoy’s face. He looks like he wants something from Albus, but Albus doesn’t know how to give it to him. 

His arousal must be written across his whole body, and Albus has never been more grateful to be wearing his loose joggers. They don't seem to be hiding anything from Mr Malfoy, however. The hesitation that was written across his face after stepping away is gradually being erased by a slow and easy smile. 

"Go on, try it yourself." 

Albus gapes. Mr Malfoy nods at him expectantly. 

Albus looks around. He panics and focuses on a box labelled _GLITTERY SHIT_ just to the right of Mr Malfoy. It doesn’t look heavy, but Albus isn’t thinking properly right now, and anyway he’s discovered several times today that Scorpius isn’t particularly skilled at accurate labelling.

He gets himself into his usual casting position, and then breathes deeply. He shifts his arm, cocks his hips back slightly, remembers the feel of Mr Malfoy behind him. 

" _Wingardium leviosa!_ ”

The box floats into the air, but Albus can hardly feel proud. It’s not like he’s levitating the grand piano– it’s a box full of glitter and sequins. Probably. 

“That’s good, Albus."

The box wobbles slightly above them. Mr Malfoy's eyes flash. He starts to walk towards Albus and it takes all his willpower to keep that box floating. 

He comes close enough that Albus can make out the feathery light hairs of his eyelashes. 

"Did you hear me?"

Albus doesn't know what to do, so he swallows. Mr Malfoy leans forward so that his face is taking up more and more of Albus' field of vision. 

"I said that you're _good_ , Albus,"

Albus gasps. His cock is hard, Mr Malfoy is smirking at him, and for some reason there is pink glitter falling from the sky. 

"I've got BAGELS!" 

There is silence as the oak door slams heavily behind Scorpius. He brandishes the grease damp bag of food towards them, but it hangs there forgotten once he spots the tornado of glitter in the centre of the room. 

"What are you _doing_?" 

The bagels hit the floor as Scorpius casts them aside to find his wand. He quickly uprights the box and floats it to safety at the other side of the room, looking for all the world like he'd found Albus trying to drown his crup. 

"If you'd ruined my craft box I would have disowned you both." 

Scorpius shakes his head in disbelief, tenderly dusting away the stripe of glitter that now garnishes the side of the box. 

Albus' chest is rising and falling with increasing speed as he takes in the events of the last five minutes. He's _mortified_. He feels lost, and he doesn't know what to do with his hands and worst of all he's _still hard_. 

Mr Malfoy clears his throat.

"Really, Scorpius, don't be so dramatic." 

Scorpius crosses his arms and lifts one eyebrow at his dad. Albus busies himself with brushing the glitter off his clothing and willing his erection to go down.

"Dad, you look like one of Madam Puddifoots trussed up gnomes right now."

Albus glances up to catch the image of Mr Malfoy’s white blonde hair, scattered with little pink stars of glitter that shimmer in the light. 

"Of course, Scorpius, didn't you know? Being the honourable custodian of such an esteemed establishment is one of my life long goals."

"Goodness, Father, I had no idea,” Scorpius exaggerates a dramatic gasp, “Please forgive my insensitive words!" 

He runs towards Mr Malfoy, throwing his arms around him in what looks like a painful hug. Mr Malfoy winces at the contact, but he’s smiling as he pushes Scorpius away. Albus notices that he has glitter on his cheekbones, and feels the strong urge to put his fingers there. 

"You are forgiven, Child." 

Mr Malfoy chuckles, and they're both smiling at each other and Albus feels a little sick. 

He uses the moment to summon his cloak from the hallway. He twirls it around himself and tries to button it up as quickly as possible. This proves difficult due to the persistent tremor in his hands. 

"Leaving so soon Al?" Scorpius sounds genuinely disappointed, which Albus hates, but he really does need to get out of here. He feels like he’s intruding.

"I'm afraid so, family dinner." 

Scorpius must know something is up because Albus isn't making eye contact but blissfully, he doesn't comment. He simply engulfs Albus in a breath-squeezingly tight hug that seems to go on for a couple seconds longer than usual.

Scorpius can be too insightful sometimes. 

“See you at my birthday party, yeah?” 

He whispers the words into Albus’ ears but they sound worried and Albus doesn’t know what to do about that so he squeezes back once, hard, and then apparates home without even looking at Mr Malfoy again. 

*

Scorpius’ 20th birthday party is even more extravagant than the year before, and Albus’ isn’t sure why he’s even surprised by this fact. He’s barely had a chance to speak to Scorpius all night. The room is packed full of people, and Albus can’t even find Scorpius in the crowd. It feels like _everyone_ from their year at Hogwarts is here, and more. Hell, even Albus’ dad and brother are here, but Albus has been successful in avoiding them so far.

Really, he’s been successful in avoiding everyone tonight because he’s not moved from this corner of the room since he got here. It’s strategically placed, because it’s only a metre or so away from the cloak room, and a little bit in the dark. If anyone makes a trajectory for him, Albus can pretend he’s forgotten something in his jacket and make a break for it.

He has a glass of prosecco in his hand, a distraction really, Albus doesn’t drink much, but he brings it up to his lips and holds it there as he scans the room. Once again, he’s struck hard by the idea that somebody as extroverted as Scorpius would even want to be his friend. Everyone in this room seems to be having a wonderful time getting close into each other’s space. They all seem to relish in the atmosphere; people are in each other’s’ faces, shouting to be heard over the rolling grind of the bass, others are sharing sweat as they twist together on the dance floor. 

It all makes Albus wish for the quiet warmth of his bed. 

“Hey, Al,” 

Great. His dad has appeared beside him, a half-finished pint of lager clutched in his hand. He shuffles closer, so they can speak over the music. His back hunching as he leans in to talk to Albus.

“It’s a bit much isn’t it?” 

Albus takes in the tension of his dad’s face, the awkward set of his shoulders. His dad’s distaste for crowded rooms and lively parties might be one of the only things they have in common. For a rare moment, Albus feels fond of his dad. 

Albus gives him a smile and his dad’s face lights up like he’s been handed a valuable chocolate frog card. Albus feels a flicker of guilt– conversation with his dad is usually strained. It has been since Albus hit his teens and his dad couldn’t understand why he didn’t want to go to the Quidditch world cup that year. Over the years Albus has closed himself up, bit by bit, rather than try to let anyone in. Now, seeing the expression on his dad’s face, Albus wishes he’d left a few more doors open. 

“Yeah, it is a bit much.”

Somebody lets out an ear-piercing screech and they both turn to see Scorpius being lifted into the air by what looks like three members of the Falmouth Falcon’s. His dad laughs and shakes his head whilst he watches.

“You know, I was really surprised when you told me Scorpius was your friend.” 

In answer, Albus just raises an eyebrow. 

“He’s just so…different from you.”

“Mmmm.”

Albus looks into his prosecco glass for something to do. It’s not like he can argue with that.

“Are you two...?”

His dad is playing with the condensation on his pint glass. Albus wonders what’s making him so nervous. 

“Are we…?”

“You know. Dating. Are you and Scorpius dating?”

“ _Dad._ ”

“Well me and your Mum, we worry about you, you know?”

“ _Dad._ ”

“And it would be good, you know? If you were dating? We’d worry a little less, because your- Scorpius is good you know? Of course you know that. Because Scorpius is great. You’re friends of course you know that. And me and your Mum think that-”

“ _Dad!_ ”

His dad stops mid rant. He looks flustered and he takes a swig of his pint before he looks Albus in the face again.

“We’re not.”

“You’re not?”

“No, Dad, Scorpius and I aren’t dating.”

His dad visibly deflates and Albus feels that familiar pang of regret. Another failure to add to bottom of his list of _How to disappoint Harry Potter_.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, Dad, I’m quite sure Scorpius and I aren’t dating.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, ‘Oh’.”

His dad shoots him a sharp look.

“No need for that. You know we worry about you.”

Albus sighs. It feels about time to make his escape from this party. Scorpius is drunk enough that he won’t notice Albus is missing until much later.

“Yes, Dad, I know you worry. You and Mum are always telling me how you worry.” 

“It’s because its true, Albus.”

His dad grabs his shoulder. Albus is about to shake him off, but he thinks that joyful expression earlier, and the guilt stops him. 

“Its just…fine. Is there anyone else?”

Albus blinks at him.

“Anyone else?”

“Yes, anyone you might be seeing?”

In a flash, Albus recalls feeling Mr Malfoy pressed tightly behind him, the low murmur in his ear. He thinks about countless nights spent gasping into his pillows, imagining Mr Malfoy’s weight above him and cock deep inside him. 

Albus shakes away from his dad.

“I need to go.”

“Albus?”

“Dad! Just…I need to go. Stop pushing into my private life.”

His Dad’s face twists into a familiar frustration. 

“Fine. Be this way, Albus. I’m fed up trying to deal with you.”

With that, his dad stalks back into the party. Albus knows he’ll apologise later, but it never makes a difference. 

He really does intend on leaving and strides over to the cloak room before Scorpius can prevent his escape.

Upon entering the cloakroom, Albus paces for a bit. He needs to calm down before he apparates, but thoughts of Mr Malfoy keep winding him up again. 

He’s wonders what he could even say to Mr Malfoy now. Could Albus even speak to the man without revealing how much he wants him? He gives a frustrated growl but stops short in his pacing when Mr Malfoy himself walks into the room.

“Oh hello, Albus. What are you doing in here?”

*

"You like it don't you."

It's not a question. Albus is suddenly aware of how small the cloakroom is. How close Mr Malfoy is.

"I was right."

Mr Malfoy brings his hand up, and Albus resist the urge to shy away. He's not sure what he's worried about, he's never seen Mr Malfoy raise a hand to anyone in violence before, but Albus is unsettled, and he's a little tipsy, and being so close to the man he dreams about regularly is messing with his decision making abilities. Mr Malfoy gently cups his face, and the warmth of the room seems to rush in and settle in Albus' chest. 

"You _like_ to be good for me, don't you Albus?" 

Mr Malfoy's voice is low- it rolls from his tongue slowly, like honey dripping off a spoon, and it vibrates with a frequency that makes Albus want to get on his knees and _submit_. Albus thinks he can feel the reverberations of it through Mr Malfoy's hand. He resists the urge to moan along with its tenor. 

"Albus?"

Albus licks his lips and gathers all of his will power to look Mr Malfoy in the eyes. The silver eyes that greet him are assertive, but the longer Albus stares without reacting to Mr Malfoy’s accusations, the less confident it becomes.

A small wrinkle appears in one of Mr Malfoy’s finely groomed eyebrows, and he starts to pull back. Albus makes a high-pitched noise in his throat when he realises and grabs Mr Malfoy's wrist to keep him in place. 

It works. Mr Malfoy gives a small smile as he looks down at his wrist. Albus’ knuckles are desperately white he’s holding on so tight. 

“I…”

Albus bites his lower lip. He nods. 

“You want to be good for me?”

Albus whines softly. He’s embarrassed, but he nods. He _needs_ to see where this goes. 

The smile that breaks out across Mr Malfoy's face makes Albus feel weak at the knees. It also intimidates him slightly, but he has very little time to think about this before Mr Malfoy's lips are crashing into his own. 

Albus swallows his surprise. He hasn't done very much of this, but it seems like he won’t need to worry about taking the initiative. Mr Malfoy _owns_ this kiss. He holds Albus' head firmly in place with both hands and kisses with a firm tongue and gentle lips, slowly exploring the heat of Albus' mouth. Albus pretty much stands there and shakes, his proseco glass forgotten and hanging in his hand. 

"Is this alright, Albus?" Mr Malfoy searches his face for something, and Albus really wants him to find what he's looking for. He nods again, tries to steel his expression into something more confident.

It must work because Mr Malfoy smiles softly before moving in to kiss him again. This time, Albus tries to wake his body up. He wraps his fist in Mr Malfoy's crisp white shirt, using it as leverage to pull himself up and into the kiss. When his tongue slips into Mr Malfoy's mouth, the other man moans and pushes Albus backwards into the coat rack. 

Unfortunately, hanging winter jackets don’t make for very good back support, but Albus doesn't realise this until he has already tried to lean back on them. 

He squeaks in an undignified manner when he starts to fall, but the crash he is expecting never comes. Mr Malfoy braces one arm on the top of the coat rack and wraps the other around Albus' lower back. The change in position brings their hips together, and feeling Mr Malfoy's not insubstantial hardness against his own is such a surprise that Albus lets out a full blown _groan_. 

"Oh, Albus, I _know,_ "

Mr Malfoy steps forward and pulls him in tighter. The move has the welcome effect of stabilising their awkward position, and increasing the friction between their hips. Albus closes his eyes and focuses on his breathing. It goes well for a couple of breaths, but then he feels Mr Malfoy's lips on his neck, and Albus is lost. 

" _Ohh,_ "

“Oh, I know, darling. Don't worry, I've got you." 

He kisses a trail up to Albus' ear lobe and takes it gently between his teeth. 

"You're being so _good_ for me." 

Albus groans again and feels Mr Malfoy smile against his neck. His hips have picked up an erratic roll against the firm muscle of Mr Malfoy's thigh but Albus is too turned on to be embarrassed. Every kiss and lick has him grinding harder into the man holding him. 

"Do you want to do more for me, Albus? Do you want to please me?" 

And Albus is _so ready_ to be good for Mr Malfoy. He feels like he’s been waiting for this for _months_ , can’t wait to make every single one of his fantasies come true, to completely give himself over to this man. 

He lets his head fall back completely, baring his neck for Mr Malfoy and chokes when his next inhale brings a flurry of feathers to the back of his throat. 

He splutters, bringing his hands up to fend off the winged beast that has surely attacked him and Mr Malfoy swings them both up to standing height, keeping his arm firmly around Albus’ waist. 

Albus coughs, his breathing deep and fast, although no longer for pleasant reasons. He frowns when Mr Malfoy begins to laugh. 

"Excuse me!" Albus gives him a shove on the chest, but Mr Malfoy only laughs harder, "I almost _died_ and you're laughing at me!"

"You didn't _almost die_ " Mr Malfoy smooths some of Albus' hair away from his face, places a kiss on his nose. 

Albus’ face is so hot you could hatch a dragon egg on it. He’s sure he’s red from choking, ( _nearly dying!_ ), and he feels humiliated, but he’s also pissed off at Mr Malfoy's lack of concern. He wriggles in Mr Malfoy's arms so that he can effectively cross his arms and frown harder.

"Oh come now don't pout. Spare a thought for me! What would I have told my son if his best friend had been murdered by his favourite winter coat." 

Albus blinks. So _that's_ what it was. Now he feels even more ridiculous, and he wriggles again, trying to break free. 

"Come now, Albus, such pretty lips, don't pout." 

Albus whines. Arousal from Mr Malfoy's praise combines with his humiliation. He’s feeling too much, but then Mr Malfoy's thumb is there tracing the shape of his lower lip, and Albus’ gut starts to twist with excitement again. 

"Such pretty lips, Albus,"

His eyes flutter shut, blocking out his embarrassment and surrendering to sensation as Mr Malfoy's words wash over him. He sighs and pulls Mr Malfoy's thumb into his mouth, pillowing his lips around the digit and laving gently at it with his tongue. 

" _Oh fu-_ ”

Albus lets a small smile grace his lips, pleased to have finally made Mr Malfoy lose some control.

The thumb is replaced with an index finger, and Mr Malfoy inserts it further into Albus' mouth, pushes down slightly on his tongue. Albus' mouth floods with saliva and he moans around Mr Malfoy's finger. 

“ _Merlin,_ ”

His cock leaks a stream of pre-come into his underwear when he thinks about the picture they must make right now. _Anyone_ could walk into this cloak room and see them- see Albus being _so good_ for Mr Malfoy. 

Fuck, his _dad_ could walk in right now and see them, and Albus still wouldn’t stop. His hips judder, and he moans around Mr Malfoy’s finger. His dad could walk into this tiny room, already hot with the smell of sex, and witness Albus submitting _completely_ for Draco Malfoy- a man Albus knows Harry Potter does _not_ consider worthy of his son. 

He almost _wants_ someone to walk in now and find them- Albus desperate and grinding onto Mr Malfoy's thigh, eagerly sucking on the hand he is offered. Mr Malfoy is more reserved in his reactions, but there would be a tell tale heat rising in his cheeks and his fingers are already digging painfully into Albus' hip. 

Albus lets his eyes open and looks up at Mr Malfoy as he licks up the underside of his finger. 

"Yes, _Albus,_ "

He pulls his finger away with a _pop_. Albus tries not to pout too much. His lips feel a little swollen, and tingly. The sensation goes straight to his cock. Mr Malfoy tilts his chin up, kisses him gently. 

"You're doing so well, Albus. Do you want to please me some more?"

Albus nods enthusiastically. 

"Very good."

Mr Malfoy pushes him down onto his knees, and Albus goes willingly.

Albus loves the way it feels when Mr Malfoy pushes a hand through his hair and strokes lightly at his curls. He feels like Mr Malfoy’s pet. From his position down on the cloak room floor, Albus feels weak and powerful all at once. When he leans forward to mouth at Mr Malfoy’s erection, his hips stutter forward slightly before he can stop himself. 

Albus smiles into the linen of Mr Malfoy's trousers, the heat of his mouth dampening the material slightly. He feels powerful in his own desire, the lust he's been cultivating for months is coursing through his veins and guiding his every move. 

Mr Malfoy curses under his breath, and to Albus’ slight regret, casts a quick privacy spell on the room. His shoulders seem to relax a little afterwards, and Albus can’t complain because Mr Malfoy quickly unbuttons his trousers and pushes them down just far enough to free his erection. 

Albus takes a moment to commit the sight to memory. Mr Malfoy’s dick is slightly longer than his own, but it’s still thick and a beautiful rosy colour, with a light blue vein tracking up the underside. Albus loves how it stands out against Mr Malfoy’s pale skin, and he wants to reach forward and taste the drop of liquid that beads at the tip. 

As if he can read Albus’ mind, Mr Malfoy takes a firm hold of his cock and guides it towards Albus' mouth, smearing the bead of precum across Albus’ lips. 

"You look so beautiful like this, Albus,"

Mr Malfoy holds the back of his head steady in place, slowly pushes the tip of his cock into Albus' mouth. Albus groans slightly as the taste spreads across his tongue, Mr Malfoy's heavy masculine scent flooding his nose and making Albus' cock twitch in his pants. His hips stutter against nothing, so Albus reaches down to push against his trapped cock. 

"Don't!" 

Albus freezes. 

"Don't touch yourself, Albus, not until I say so." Mr Malfoy gently caresses the back of Albus' head as if to soften the harsh tone of his voice. "Understood?" 

He looks up through his lashes. Mr Malfoy's eyes widen as he takes in the picture kneeling beneath him. Albus nods and sucks hard around the head of Mr Malfoy's cock, letting his tongue flicker lightly against the slit. 

Finally, Mr Malfoy gasps. He stops Albus' by pulling close and tight on his hair. Albus pulls away, looks up expectantly. 

"I'm going to fuck your mouth, Albus. Is that okay, Darling?"

Albus shivers at the endearment. He strains forward, taking as much of Mr Malfoy's length as possible into his mouth. The grip on his head loosens only slightly, and Albus loves the sharp pain of it as his hair snags in Mr Malfoy's fingers.

" _Ohh yes_ , look at you, trying so hard for me," 

For a moment, Mr Malfoy uses his thumb to trace the shape of Albus' lips stretched tight around his cock. Albus feels desperate, wants to feel the spongy head of Mr Malfoy's cock hitting the back of his throat. His arousal is familiar in its intensity, but usually Albus is alone, hand flying over his cock in the darkness of his room, his imagination fuelling his desires. Now, Albus thinks he might burn with the need to live out those fantasies. He relaxes his throat and focuses on taking Mr Malfoy deeper. 

"That's it Albus, take it easy, Darling," 

Again, the endearment makes him shiver, and Albus pushes further still so that the head of Mr Malfoy's dick pushes slightly in to the back of his throat. The movement partly closes off his breathing, and the sensation makes Albus' cock _throb_ , even as he concentrates on breathing through his nose. He's never been this hard before in his life. 

He holds Mr Malfoy at the back of his throat and brings his hands forward to steady himself on Mr Malfoy's thighs. They're shaking with the effort of not thrusting forward, and Albus is proud of himself. He _really_ wants to make Mr Malfoy lose control. He pushes forward again, his throat stretching wider still, but he messes up his breathing and suddenly he's gagging. 

Mr Malfoy pulls him back firmly before he can really make a proper mess of the situation. He pets Albus' hair soothingly through splutters and as he tries to get a hold of his breathing. 

"Easy, easy," 

Once Albus has stopped coughing, Mr Malfoy tilts his chin upwards. 

"How about I lead for a while, hmm?"

Albus feels chastised and hangs his head to hide his embarrassment. 

Mr Malfoy pushes his mouth open with his index finger and keeps it there, even as he slides his dick in, so that it settles just shy of Albus’ throat. 

Now his mouth feels truly stretched, and the extra girth satisfies some of Albus’ cravings. He no longer feels inadequate as Mr Malfoy picks up a shallow thrust. 

"Albus, use- _oh_ use your tongue for me,"

He runs his tongue along the underside of Mr Malfoy's cock with every thrust, tries to circle around the head each time he pulls back. His hands hang limply by his sides, and Albus shuts his eyes and surrenders completely to the feeling of being used. 

As Mr Malfoy's thrusts become more erratic, the words slip from his mouth like jewels. Albus covets every single one. He feels deliciously vulnerable as they are lavished on him, mentally storing everything Mr Malfoy says to revisit later. 

"So beautiful, Albus, _fuck_ , you have no idea how much, _fuck, that's perfect_ ,"

He's pulling Albus' hair so hard his scalp is burning. 

"Suck a little harder for me, Darling, _yes, that's it, yes,_ "

Suddenly he stops and pulls back. Albus whines even though his jaw aches and he's sure his lips look as brutal as they feel. 

"I want to come on your face." 

And _yes_ , Albus wants that so he smiles and closes his eyes. Mr Malfoy interprets this correctly as permission, and he holds Albus steady whilst his other hand works quickly over his cock. Albus hears the wet sounds of skin on skin, occasionally feels the head of Mr Malfoy's cock brushing against his lips before hot liquid suddenly starts to coat his chin, his lips and his neck. 

"Yes, yes, _yes! So perfect..._ ” 

Albus licks his lips, savours the salty taste of Mr Malfoy’s cum as it lands hot on his skin.  
As the frequency of the drops hitting him tapers away, Albus reckons it’s safe to open his eyes. Mr Malfoy is looking down at him, pale skin flushed a delightful red and beads of sweat clinging to his temples. 

Albus quirks a smile up at him, and suddenly Mr Malfoy is tugging Albus onto his feet and crushing their faces together. Albus readies himself. Fully expects to be snogged until he comes in his pants. Instead Mr Malfoy is licking at his chin and his neck, groaning into Albus' skin as he cleans the cum from his face. 

" _P-please_ ," 

Mr Malfoy growls into his skin.

"You have _no idea_ just how perfect you are, Albus," 

He spins them so that Albus is pushed face first up against the door. Albus can't help but wonder why they didn't use this door sooner. Mr Malfoy pins his arms above his head. Albus’ skin feels slick against the cool wall.

"Stay here." 

Albus does as he's told. Tries not to squirm too much. His dick is really, quite painful now and chafing against the confinement of his boxers. 

He hears Mr Malfoy murmuring an incantation somewhere behind him. Albus vaguely recognises it as privacy spell. It’s stronger than the one Mr Malfoy cast earlier.

"This part is definitely for my eyes only." 

Mr Malfoy presses his back up the length of Albus, reminding him of that day at Scorpius' flat. 

"I want to see you take my fingers."

Albus groans and pushes backwards. It's something he's tried himself a few times, but never to much success. He thinks of Mr Malfoy's long, skilful fingers. This will probably feel different. 

" _Yes_ , please," 

The wash of Mr Malfoy's magic makes him gasp, followed quickly by the sensation of his dick pressed up against the cold wood of the door. Mr Malfoy has vanished Albus’ trousers and underwear. He's been leaking precum into his boxers since Mr Malfoy first walked into the closet, and Albus reckons he's leaving the door in an awful mess right now. 

He jumps when he feels a slick finger at his entrance, carefully circling his hole. He expects Mr Malfoy to take his time, but he pushes in quickly, sliding in all the way to the knuckle. 

"Look at you, Albus, you're so hard for me. You've been so good tonight."

Albus groans and pushes backwards, trying to force more of that finger into him. 

" _More,_ " 

"Yes, Darling, of course. You deserve it, you’ve done so well.”

A second finger pushes in next to the first, but it's still not enough. Albus begins to push back rhythmically, fucking himself on Mr Malfoy's fingers. 

"Yes, Albus, fuck yourself on my fingers. Look how beautifully your arse is taking me." 

He pushes a third finger in, and Albus comes explosively and without warning. He fucks himself down _hard_ , riding Mr Malfoy's fingers and spurting load after load of cum onto the dark wooden door. He lets out a loud, long whine and hopes to god Mr Malfoy thought to cast a silencing spell on the room too.

As he floats down from his orgasm, his legs begin to tremble. Mr Malfoy's arm curls around his midsection again, pulling him backwards so that Mr Malfoy can whisper in his ear. 

Albus is too out of it to catch every word, he vaguely hears " _so perfect...I wish...beautiful...fucking knew..._ " and " _I'll prove it to him_ , as Mr Malfoy pets his hair soothingly. 

They stay there like that for a while. Albus’ mind is fuzzy and the only thing he can focus on is how good it feels to have a strong chest behind him, a weight supporting him even when his legs feel like they are going to give out. He might even begin to drift off, because he it feels like he’s being pulled from a heavy slumber when Mr Malfoy shakes him gently and turns him around.

“Come on, Darling, we’d better get back to the party.”

“Mmm…don’t want to.” 

His voice comes out raspy, and Albus delights in the sound of it.

“I’m afraid we have to.”

“Do we though?”

“Yes, we do. Or else Scorpius will have both our heads.”

“Shit.”

“Exactly.”

Mr Malfoy reconjures Albus’ trousers.

Albus lets his head fall forward to rest on Mr Malfoy’s shoulder as the man busies himself adjusting their clothing. He slowly buttons up his trousers with a carefulness that makes Albus ache. The metal of his belt buckle feels sharp on Albus’ skin and it makes him flinch. He needs to snap himself out of this post orgasm haze if he’s going to speak to anyone else tonight. 

“This colour really does look good on you.” 

“Mmm?”

Albus pulls back to look at Mr Malfoy. He’s slowly smoothing his hands over the creases in Albus’ dark green shirt. It’s one Scorpius picked out for him to wear tonight. 

“This colour. It brings out your eyes.”

Albus blinks at him. 

“Right. Let’s go show face for a while, shall we?”

“I suppose so.”

“Just for an hour or so, Albus, then we can leave.”

“We? As in together?”

It slips out before he can stop himself. Albus hates how hopeful he sounds, but he’s still too blissed out from his orgasm to filter his emotions. Mr Malfoy irons out his clothes with a flourish of his wand. He steps forward and softly cups Albus’ cheek. Albus feels the slow caress of Mr Malfoy’s magic removing the evidence of their tryst from his skin. He regrets the loss of it– he’d wanted to smell Mr Malfoy on him later. 

As he takes in the smirk splitting Mr Malfoy’s face, Albus realises he might have more opportunities to make memories with Mr Malfoy than he’d ever thought possible. 

“Come on then.”

Mr Malfoy strides confidently into the party, and Albus follows guilelessly behind him. He can feel himself grinning as he pushes through the crowd, and it feels like for once he might be able to hang around at one of Scorpius’ birthday parties. He spots James and his dad talking at the other side of the room, and Albus makes a mental note to apologise to his dad later.  
Mr Malfoy comes to an abrupt stop and Albus hasn’t been paying any attention, so he slams into the back of him. 

“ _Ouch,_ ” 

Albus clutches at his nose.

“Al! Are you alright?”

Even with one hand checking that Albus is okay, Scorpius is swaying quite a lot. His eyes are blown, but his face is full of concern. Albus can’t help but think he looks ridiculous, and he’s overwhelmed with love for his best friend. With all the emotions fighting for dominance inside him right now, one more is too much, and Albus is tipped into hysteria. 

He starts giggling uncontrollably. 

“Al? _Al!_ Dad what’s wrong with him? Is he okay? Al?”

Albus clasps a hand over his mouth, looks up at Mr Malfoy. He looks like he doesn’t have a clue what to do with a hysterical Potter. The high points of his cheeks are blooming red and it makes Albus laugh even harder to see Mr Malfoy flustered. 

“Yes, of course he’s okay, Scorpius, why wouldn’t he be?” 

Mr Malfoy is fidgeting with the hem of his sleeves, and Albus can’t stop grinning at him. Scorpius stands back and looks between the two of them. He moves his head back and forth, taking stock of his dad and his best friend several times before he seems to reach some sort of conclusion. Albus doesn’t even care what it is. He’s finally managed to clamp down on his giggles, but he needs to bite down on his lip to stop them escaping. He goes back to looking at Mr Malfoy because he wants to, because Albus has never seen him flustered before and he’s relishing it. He’s also never looked at Mr Malfoy this openly when Scorpius was there, but Albus knows his best friend. He knows Scorpius is more observant than anyone gives him credit for. 

“I don’t know, Dad, why wouldn’t he?”

Mr Malfoy coughs and Albus howls with laughter. 

“ _Excuse me_ , Scorpius?”

“Never mind, Dad. Hey, did you hear about- ” 

And with that Scorpius launches into a different topic that Albus doesn’t even bother to keep track of. He knows he’ll have to speak to Scorpius about it later, but it can be a problem for another day. Right now, Albus is happy to think about only one Malfoy. 

Mr Malfoy has been happily distracted by his son, and Albus looks at the two of them talking animatedly. Albus’ laughter finally quiets. It settles to a bubbling joy that threatens to explode to the surface throughout the rest of the party. 

He could stand the rocky relationship with his family and the expectations of everyone in his life, he thought, if he only could come back to this with Mr Malfoy.

**Author's Note:**

> I DID IT! This completely ran away from me, which was not the plan because this is the first fic I have ever written for the HP fandom, and I really wanted to post on time.
> 
> Unfortunately that didn't happen, but at least I managed to get it up before the fest finished.
> 
> Endless thank you's to @unicornsandpheonix for the beta and the kind, kind words. You made me feel a bit more confident, and gave me the final push to get it finished!
> 
> And of course thank you to the lovely fest mods. This whole fest has been a treat, and I'm super grateful for the time and dedication you guys have put into the whole fest.


End file.
